Strange Visitor

Not so long ago, in a land not so far away&;#8230; or to be more
precise, in mid-eighties Wales&;#8230; there lived a kindly, young
couple, John and Mary Evans (no relation) who owned a modest, yet
lucrative sheep farm.

Now, it had been Mary's fondest wish to have a child. Whether it was
something in the sheep dip or the fact that John spent most of his
spare time in the barn, she didn't know, but she hadn't yet
conceived.

And so it came to pass, that one December morning in 1985, John was out
in the top field sorting out the drainage, when he heard an odd
whistling. He looked around, saw nothing. But the noise grew
louder.

He stared up and saw the star arcing across the indigo sky, getting
brighter as the whistle increased in both pitch and volume.

The star glowed more, the noise grew unbearably loud and John suddenly
realised what was happening. He ran for the farmhouse, the sheep
scattered and the star slammed into the earth with an angry thud.

"John ?" Mary ran from the kitchen, seeing her husband lying face-down
in the mud. She raced across to him as he slowly got up with a groan,
and helped him to his feet.

"What the hell was that ?" John wiped his face. "I said, what the
hell&;#8230;" He never finished his question.

His eyes followed Mary's and widened to the same degree of bulginess.
"Oh. My. God !"

Sticking up a good ten feet from the mud (and John guessed that a
similar amount was buried in the mud) was a gleaming, silvery cylinder.
Just beneath the still-smoking engines were all manner of directional
fins, antennae, reaction-control thrusters, most of which had been
snapped off in the impact.

And there, standing next to it and wiping her floured hands on her
apron, was his wife.

"Mary, what do you think you're doing ?" She ignored him and edged
closer (as did the equally-nosey sheep). She reached out a hand. "Mary,
be careful. It may still be hot after re-entry."

His wife slowly placed her fingers and then her whole hand against the
hull and grinned, looking the cylinder up and down. "John, this looks
like a door ! I'll just try the handle, yes ?"

"No ! It might be dangerous ! It might be the spearhead of a Martian
invasion fleet !"

"Really ? Like in that book by Orson Welles ?"

"HG Wells." John gingerly approached. "Just be careful. I'll go call
the army, or, better still, the FBI."

"Oh, don't be stupid !" Mary pulled the handle.

There was a loud hiss. John shuffled backwards, Mary leaned closer.
"Oh, look ! It's a little baby !" She reached in and picked the child
up, the two of them burbling and grinning at eachother. "John, you know
what this means ? We've prayed for a child for years and now one turns
up from the heavens ? Close to Christmas ?"

"Don't be silly ! It's obvious that&;#8230;" he peered under the
blankets, "that he was rocketed to Earth from a dying planet !"

"What, like in those comic-books you used to read as a boy ?"

John stared at the floor for a moment. "Just like that. How does he
feel ? Does he feel heavy like he's got a super-dense molecular
structure ?" Mary bounced the baby up and down in her arms and shook
her head. "Well does he feel light then ? Like he's floating due to
Earth's lighter gravity ?"

"John, what are you talking about ? He feels like a normal baby boy !"
They were silent a while. "Can we keep him ? We can say he's ours. We
can say I didn't know I was pregnant. It happens all the time ! He's
got no-one else."

"What shall we call him ?" John sighed after a further five minutes of
petitioning.

"Huw's a nice name."

"How about Clark ?"

Mary frowned. "Clark ? Like him on the telly ?"

"I guess so&;#8230; Well ?"

"It's a nice name, I suppose&;#8230; Clark Evans&;#8230;
Hmmm&;#8230;" She pondered the name over and over while John peered
down at the child. Then he abruptly prodded him on a pudgy
forearm.

Two things happened: the baby screamed and Mary slapped her husband.
"So much for invulnerability&;#8230;"

Mary whisked the child into the house and John took a detour via the
barn. Right at the back, he shifted aside a couple of haybales and
opened a concealed door in the plank wall. He shone his torch over the
shelves upon shelves of boxes, scanning the labels until he found the
one he wanted, heaved it onto the desk and opened it carefully.

John slowly flicked through the poly-bagged magazines within, eased one
out and gazed at the cover. A heavily-muscled, blue-haired man wearing
a skin-tight blue, red and yellow costume hoisted a car over his head
with the greatest ease.

He replaced the comic book in the box and the box on the shelf and left
the barn quietly, his mind abuzz with the legend of The Man Of Steel
and he thought of little Clark, their starchild, in his kitchen and he
began to chuckle crazily&;#8230;

* * *

Mary brought the boy up with good morals and manners, loving Clark as
though he had been her own and John, though he also loved his son, had
very different ambitions for him&;#8230; things like being "able to
leap tall buildings in a single bound&;#8230;"

"Pa, why are we at the top of the barn ? You know I don't like
heights&;#8230;"

"See that haystack down there ?" Clark gingerly leaned out and nodded.
"I want you to jump for it."

"What ? That's fifty feet !"

"More like thirty-three. Just step out. That's all."

"I'll fall !"

"Not if you concentrate hard."

"What good will that do ?"

"You have to will yourself not to fall."

Clark stared at him. "Well, go on then !"

"I can't !"

"You can." Clark was about to protest again when his father's large
hand slapped him between the shoulder blades. He felt himself
overbalance and pitch forward, felt the barn floor disappear.

Clark's scream was precisely thirty-three feet long, cut off by a
muffled thump. "Clark ? You okay, boy ?"

Clark muttered, rubbing his backside. "You pushed me&;#8230;"

"Did you feel anything ?"

"Only the ground when I hit it&;#8230;"

John sighed and scribbled in his notebook. What else was there ? "More
powerful than a locomotive&;#8230;"

* * *

"So, what exactly is it that I'm supposed to do ?"

"You know Mr Jones' bull ?" John pointed over the fence at the huge,
stomping, steamy-nosed lump of muscle in the field. "You're going to
exercise him. Mr Jones wants him fit for his heifers."

"How do I exercise him then ?"

"Just run around the field and the bull will run after you."

"Pa, I'll get hurt !"

"No, you won't. Mr Jones' bull's old and too large to catch you. You'll
be fine. There's a quid in it for you !"

Clark climbed the fence. "Are you sure it's safe ?"

"Stop worrying, will you ?" John slapped him heartily on the
back.

Clark trudged slowly towards the bull who glared at him. John gazed at
the red handkerchief he had just Blu-Tacked between the boy's shoulders
and crossed his fingers.

Five minutes later, Clark climbed back over the fence, legs wobbly,
clothers torn, face and body cut and bruised, pride shattered. "I
thought you said Mr Jones' bull was old and slow&;#8230;"

"Ah&;#8230; well, you see that's not Mr Jones' bull&;#8230;" John
scribbled again in the notebook, checking the next item on his list:
"Faster than a speeding bullet&;#8230;"

* * *

"Where do you want this can, Pa ?"

"Just put it on that ledge there on the side of the barn." John snapped
the barrels of the shotgun into place.

"Don't know why you need to practice, you're a great sho&;#8230;"
BANG ! The tin can exploded in the boy's hand. "Pa ! You almost shot me
!"

"Sorry, boy." BANG ! The other barrel plumed a jet of flame and the
side of the barn behind Clark's head erupted. "Sorry&;#8230;" He was
glad Mary was out for the day. He broke open the weapon and reloaded,
aiming for the boy's stomach. Maybe an intense adrenalin rush would
awaken the boy's latent powers.

Or maybe not.

He stared as the boy sucked on a finger. "Got a
splinter&;#8230;"

John lowered the shotgun and then lowered his eyes with a
sigh&;#8230;

* * *

The next morning, John took Clark into the village to see Doc Williams
(no relation). "What's the verdict, Owain ? What did you find ?"

"What did you expect me to find, John ?"

Doc Williams sipped at his coffee and grimaced. "The boy's perfectly
fit and healthy."

"Too fit and healthy, perhaps ?"

"Not really. Just normal for a boy his age."

John leaned in closer. "Blood tests okay ? Needle go in all right ?"
The doc nodded quizzically. "Hearing and vision normal, were they ? I
mean, he wasn't seeing or hearing things&;#8230;" he thought of how
best to put it, "that didn't seem to be there ?"

"John, whatever's the matter with you ? Your Clark is a normal, healthy
teenager."

"That's all ? Normal ?"

"That's all. Normal. Now go home, man. It'll be opening time soon
!"

So, John and Clark walked the long walk back to their farm. Okay, so
Clark didn't have superpowers and wouldn't grow up to be that sort of a
legend. Nor would he and Mary be known as the parents of that
legend.

But, no matter what his origins, bizarre as they might be, Clark was
their son, and John and Mary would love him and be proud of him always,
no matter where he came from&;#8230;

* * *

Later that night, in the next valley, old Mr Morgan (no relation) sat
in his barn as he had sat every night for the past fifteen years, ever
since his wife had died, and he stared skywards.

The old launch gantry had grown rusty now. Sooner or later he would
have to have it removed. But it served as a reminder of his folly and
his most-regrettable failure.

The Earth hadn't come to an end in December 1985 as he had predicted.
Sending his own infant son away to safety in a rocket had been totally
unnecessary.

He gazed up at the newly-repaired glass panel in the roof, gazed up at
the hundreds and thousands of tiny stars, wondering if the hyperdrive
had worked long enough for the baby to reach one of them, wondering if
the cryo-stasis chamber would survive the trip, wondering if wherever
he landed, he would have possession of all the powers and abilities of
a god.

Mr Morgan stood up and smiled, wishing his son well.

Wherever he was&;#8230;